


Aphotic

by DixieFriday



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Even if they make me cry and swear off writing, F/M, Helllloooo Fannibals I know you're here., I'm a Fannibal too, Kylo Ren completes his turn to the dark side by murdering a lover, Kylo Ren is damaged in soooo many ways, Maybe - Freeform, My therapist can never see this, Not too long after Episode VII, One Shot, Reviews, Snuff, Spoilers, Starts in the middle of a story in the end of another story, all welcome, because I don't want people who know me to know I write this, but that's not as bad as all the rape and murder, but there sort of is plot, comments, feedback encouraged, maybe an hour to a few hours?, maybe she just passed out, mention of prostitution, not even a little, off to the Dark Side, seriously, the lover has no name because smut, theft and continuing the story encouraged as long as I get to read it, this wasn't beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5732272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieFriday/pseuds/DixieFriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers. Spoilers. Read tags.<br/>This story opens with a woman telling Ren some horrible secret.<br/>And despite the fact it seems he may have known her for years, he had a seriously bad day.<br/>This is smut with a underlying plot that is there in a David Lynchian sort of way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aphotic

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, ya'll.

I started breathing harder, my forehead against his neck. I expected to die then. I couldn’t guess how it would feel but I imagined a burn through my chest, or just below my ribs.

His arms which had rested at his sides now moved, wrapping around me. His hand pressed on my back. It was warm; he’d removed his glove. I felt something drop behind me. The weak thud of heavy cloth. I wondered if he meant to kill me bare handed.  
Then the other hand pressed to my side. Warm as well through the silk of my top. 

“Stay there.” He whispered, leaning so his lips brushed my ear. Then he stepped back.

And I realized the whisper hadn’t just been an order, it had been some sort of Force trick. 

It was in this immobility I felt the beginnings of fear. He’d never held me like this before. I knew he could but never thought I’d experience it. Death, yes. This odd torture of having the control of my body taken from me? No. He was always so quick tempered that death made sense. He slipped away from me, leaving me frozen with my head down.

I could barely move my eyes to follow his movements. 

“I can feel your fear.” He said, his voice soft. He’d removed his helmet, then the over cloak. “You’ve never been afraid around me before.”

I have, I thought. I couldn’t speak, it felt as if a hand were squeezing my vocal cords. I was stunned at how complete the control was. I wondered what else he could force someone’s body to do and I felt my heart, apparently still under it’s own control speed up. 

His head dropped, back still to me he said, “Not afraid like this.” His belt fell next, the lightsaber with it. 

Then he did something he’d never done before and it was this sign of vulnerability more than anything else that made me realize I was going to die tonight. Maybe not physically, but after I’d seen this he’d make sure I was destroyed.

The action was simple. 

He started removing his shirt.

I thought about closing my eyes. Then discovered I couldn’t. Instead my posture changed, my body turned to face him, my chin lifted, giving me a better view.

“You’ve asked to see this before.” He said. The tunic dropped to the floor. His shirt came next and I saw his skin. He was pale, an exquisite ivory that contrasted starkly with the black hair. But what drew the eye were the cuts and the bruises. The scars. They were livid, fresh. 

He stopped, turned and stared at me, his fists clenching and releasing. On the front of him was a new wound, still seeping blood. It looked like a blaster burn. I gave an involuntary gasp.

And I felt the hold on my body release. I staggered a little, regained my balance, and looked at him, “Who did that to you?” I demanded, clenching my right fist and moving a step toward him. My fear was overridden by my anger. 

His eyes widened then narrowed. He stepped forward and without any warning his hand landed on my cheek. It stung and I staggered to the side, then recovered and faced him again. I was about to speak. 

He reached out, grabbed my throat, “Don’t try to fool me with false sympathy.”

More to keep my balance than try to pull him away I reached up and my fingers wrapped around his wrist, “It’s not false, dammit.” I whispered using what little air I could force through my windpipe, “Or can’t you sense that?”

He let go of my neck and staggered back, his hand going to his forehead, palm pressed hard to the skin there. His long fingers turning white from pressure, “Stop it.” He snapped. 

“Stop what? Damn it, Ren, who did that?” 

“I won’t be tempted.” He said. I stepped closer and this time felt the heat radiating from him. His cheeks were burning crimson and there was dark discoloration around his eyes. He looked ill in fact. And the wound on his abdomen was livid. He spoke again, his voice ragged, “After what I’ve done I won’t be tempted by you. Not by someone like you.” 

Well, there it was. When he wanted to hurt he’d bring this up. But he’d known what I did from the beginning. After all, he’d been the one to hire me, and I’d been one of the few Mistresses in the Core that was stupid enough to think she could handle a Solo. “It’s a little late to bring up my profession now.” I said. 

He laughed, as if I’d said something funny. “You’re right. You’re right. Your profession.” He said. “I forget about that, sometimes. I think you are genuine. But...it’s just those who pay, isn’t it?” 

He stood up, his face cleared of emotion and he looked at me imperiously, “Even my father was not a fan of bounty hunters or Mistresses. Called them whores. And that’s what you’ve been, isn’t it? My whore.” 

This shock was worse than the shock of the slap. My mouth fell open. The fear which had been subsiding transformed into anger and flared. I stepped forward and slapped him hard across his flushed cheek. His head flew to the side, stayed there, dark hair blocking his face. 

He stood like that long enough for me to think of what a phenomenal mistake I’d just made. 

When he turned back to me his iris had shots of unfamiliar red in it. It looked like a fire was burning from within him. I backed up but was nowhere near fast enough. 

His hand came up, closed around my neck and pushed me back. We hit the edge of his couch, I fell back and he fell on top of me. His free hand went down and ripped my long skirt, one he had picked out in fact. I tried to struggle and found myself unable to move. He stood up, removed his clothes, then yanked my skirt off, followed by my blouse which landed in two pieces on the floor. I had worn nothing underneath, again, as he liked it. He grabbed my ankle, spread my legs and with absolutely no preparation at all forced himself into me.

We had had sex before. It was usually a slow buildup followed by a quick ending. Always with lube. He was large and I was not. I was usually brimming with enough pleasure to be ready for him, his fingers having worked plenty of lube into me.

But this I was not ready for. 

I wanted to scream, needed to scream, but couldn’t. He had to push several times growling deep in his throat to get himself inside. He was so hard and I was so dry and frightened that penetration was hurting both of us, but he seemed to be building himself up from the pain, pulling something from it. His head lowered and his mouth closed on my nipple and sucked. His hand squeezing the other breast painfully. Then he slipped both hands off of me, lifted himself onto his elbows so he could look down at me.

He withdrew his cock completely, leaned up, and looked into my eyes. Tears welled in his but they were determined. He shifted both of us so we lined up better on the soft cushions of the couch. He slid a hand up my body, bringing my arms up, and clenching my wrists in his hand. He tightened this hand around my wrists, stared into my eyes. He reached down, spreading me with his fingertips and shoved. 

Something in me ripped and suddenly he could move smoothly inside of me. 

It was agony. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. Physically. But in my mind? I shrieked, begging for the pain to stop. For him to stop.

He tensed as if I was hurting him. A warm tear fell from his eyelashes and tracked itself down my cheek as he looked downward toward the press of our bodies together. There was a long moment where he simply lay on top of me as I struggled and trembled trying to break loose of him. 

Then he whispered, his voice almost inaudible, “I can’t stop.” And he relaxed against me even as his hands tightened again. He held me still, shifting over me, finding the angle he best fit, and began shoving. Harder than he had before. 

He moved up, pressing his bloodied lips against mine, then moving his mouth to my ear, “I love your pain. I love it. Your fear. It gives proper honor to the dark side.” Every word was accentuated by a hard thrust. I was breaking inside. Unable to move, unable to scream. 

He leaned up, looking at my face again. He brought a hand up and smoothed the tears off one of my cheeks. His tears were gone, it looked as if they’d never been there at all. In his iris the red seemed to have spread. The fire was filling him.

I had known and seen Kylo Ren at his angriest, at his worst, and soothed him out of it, fucked him out of it. I wouldn’t be able to this time. Because this wasn’t the Kylo Ren I had seen yesterday. 

He was different. I didn’t know this man. Or maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I’d been blind on purpose. The money had been good. And then, well, he had been good. 

He started to move again. The thrusting was harder than before.So hard I felt the jolt up my spine and into my stomach. It wasn’t just rough, it was murderous. It made me want to vomit. I felt something give in my hip, he released my wrists and twisted an arm behind my back. It dislocated, I felt the pop, and my body tensed despite his hold on my mind the pain was so great. He shuddered over me as if this tremor had given him something. 

I suppose it had. 

His hands slid over me, pinching, grabbing, and then finally reached my throat and tightened. 

My air supply cut off, he spoke to me as the world began to fade, first visually, then the feeling of the couch under me, of him over and inside me, even the feeling of his hands around my neck. When all that was left was my sense of hearing his voice came through, “I’ve done something unforgivable tonight. I killed my father. It’s odd...how easy that makes killing you. But if it makes you feel better, I do feel something.” 

And the world was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> (Marshmallow vodka is great in hot chocolate) (I only mention this because it influenced the writing.)


End file.
